


The Average Summoner's Guide to Demons and Serkets

by teenymeanie



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Demons, Demonstuck, F/F, Scourge Sisters, Scourgecest, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-01 15:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4024903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teenymeanie/pseuds/teenymeanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is not the first time you've summoned a high-ranking demon, but it is the first time you have to shed blood to do it."<br/>Terezi Pyrope summons a demon to make a deal and ends up with far more than she bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Step 1: Summoning Your Demon

**Author's Note:**

> A work in progress with hopefully many chapters! Thank you for reading!

     It is not the first time you've summoned a high-ranking demon, but it is the first time you have to shed blood to do it.

     You, being an excellent occultist and an active member and occasional moderator of an impressive list of paranormal forums, have brought exactly eight of the eight requirements for summoning tonight's target. You have in your backpack:

     - the printed instructions for tonight's excursion (optional but helpful--not one of the eight)  
     - one large, cobalt blue candle (surprisingly hard to find)  
     - a lighter (cheap)  
     - a plastic baggy of salt (that kind of exploded in your bag a little but whatever)  
     - a pocket knife (stolen)  
     - one piece of white printer paper (unfortunately crumpled)  
     - one pen with blue ink (also stolen. Your poor roommate)  
     - a magic 8 ball (from a thrift store)  
     and  
     - 8 dollars worth of nickels.

     You have followed the directions on summoning this beast perfectly. You left your apartment at eight minutes to midnight, supplies on hand, and slipped down the stairwell and outside into the muggy night air. Slapping mosquitoes on your way to your car, you ignored the urge to glance over your shoulder, because, no, there was no way it was here already. You drove in silence on the empty streets and ignored the goosebumps on your neck despite the temperature. Because you are hot shit, you remember from the instructions never to look behind you. You also hate feeling like it's breathing on you.

     It takes you six minutes to reach the nearest diner, a family-owned business that closed hours ago. The lights were off, as they are now, save for the glowing neon of the restaurant's sign advertising only "EAT" in flickering green. At exactly midnight your car was parked, your engine turned off, and your instructions in your hand. Now for the good part.

     You look at the instructions. Check, check, check, check.

     "Here we go. 'Light the candle with the lighter and set on summoning surface,'" you read aloud to yourself. "Sure thing." You get out of your car and you don't look around the dark parking lot. You get your blue candle and lighter and follow the instructions, taking a deep breath before setting the candle on the asphalt. The flame waves gently.

     "Sick. Okay, Pyrope, you got this. What's next. 'Make a circle with the nickels around the candle and around yourself. DO NOT EXIT THE CIRCLE UNTIL THE RITUAL IS COMPLETE.' Huh. No need to yell at me." You grab your backpack and set it at your feet, then sit beside the candle. You take out your rolls of nickels and sprinkle them in a vaguely symmetrical circle around yourself, then shift a few so everything seems even. A hand brushes your hair behind your ear.

     "SHIT SHIT SHIT" you squeal, smacking yourself upside the head. Okay. Calm down. Stop... Okay. You swallow the lump in your throat and focus on your goal. You don't look behind you or around you or above you or anything because you know what you are doing. "Goddamn."

     You follow the next step and remove the rest of your supplies; you set the baggy of salt on your lap, place the pen atop the paper, and place the magic 8 ball face down on the ground. You take a few deep breaths before you move on.

     "'Make a small cut in your palm and spread the blood in eight lines on the paper. Then draw the demon's sigil in blue ink and sign with your greatest fear.'"

     You do just that.

     Your hand stings as you fold the pocket knife back up and set down the pen. You read aloud once more from the instructions.

     "'I, Terezi Pyrope,'" you read, as a sickly sweet breeze tosses your short hair about, "'Humbly request to speak with the Marquise of Demons.'" You hold up the magic 8 ball and shake it, though you don't look at it yet. The air around you sizzles and crackles with energy like white noise, and a voice just barely crones above the din, sing song and reedy. You tense, but you don't look. FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T LOOK. Then, when spindly fingers tangle in your hair and a breath grazes your ear and a shiver shoots up your spine, you shoot up from the ground like goddamn bamboo, squeeze your eyes shut, and you smash the magic 8 ball with all your might against the ground. Inky liquid splashes over the paper, lighter, and nickles, and puts out the candle.

     It's silent.

     It's perfectly silent save for your shallow breaths. Slowly, gradually, you lower your shoulders and breathe regularly. Your heart pounds against your ribcage and your adrenaline is seriously off the charts. You wonder briefly if you're going to die. You wonder why you aren't a bit more concerned about the possibility. You slowly open your eyes and...

     Nothing. In front of you, the parking lot is dark and empty. At your feet, the nickels are in the same place, the pen, paper, shattered magic 8 ball and candle are in the same place. All is fine. You sigh.

     "You rang?" purrs a voice into your ear.

     You turn around.


	2. Step Two: Bargaining with Your Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A deal--a compromise?--is made.

     It smirks at you with pointed teeth and its blank blue eyes gleam in the glow of the old diner sign. The demon is thin and long, with spidery fingers and a flicking blue tail. It reeks of the ocean, like rotting fish and booze, and its long black hair is tangled up into a knotted braid that swings low down its back, tied with a ribbon. An average demon, more or less. As it turns, however, and its slight muscles stretch over its frame, you are embarrassed to notice its feminine waist and long legs and incredible lack of decent clothing.

     "A-are you the Marquise of Demons, then?" you ask, fighting to keep your composure under the creature's unwavering gaze. It shifts its weight--or did it float?--and slinks around the perimeter of summoning nickels like a lion, trapped inside the circle as you are. It brushes shoulders with you as it walks and the contact sends a harsh jolt up your spine. You resist the shudder that rises and ball your fists. The beast chuckles low in its throat.

     "You think the Marquise would just show up for an amateur like yoooooooou?" it says, resting a skeletal hand on its hip as it continues its rounds. "Oh no, darling. She's much too busy these days." The thing's voice is grating, like crackling ice, and the sound seems to echo from inside your ears rather than out. You force yourself to look it dead in the eyes.

     "I wanted to speak with the Marquise." You do your best to look like the tough summoner you are. You puff out your chest a little bit. It blinks at you for a moment, then throws its head back with squeals of laughter. You redden.

     "Tough shit, bitch!" It cackles in your face, "She isn't coming!"

     You attempt to calm yourself, knowing that this demon messenger--or whatever its job is--is already feeding off of your energy. Its little outburst has to be from your frustration. It would be bad news if it got out of hand. You pinch your nose and sigh, slowly.

     "Okay, then who are you?"

     "Does it matter?" It pretends to be uninterested, inspecting its braid. "You got a high-ranking demon! Congratulations!"

     "Can you help me speak with the Marquise? What do you want? A sacrifice? My firstborn or whatever?"

     The demon looks at you incredulously. "What? No! Who do you think I am?"

     "I don't know who you are!" you say shrilly.

     "Well why summon me?"

     "Ugh!" You cross your arms and look away. You have never met such an annoying demon. Usually they're regal, and have nice jewelry on and smell like expensive cologne. Despite the bad reputation, you think, demons are generally very pleasant! They give you what you want, ask for something in return, and you're on your way to bed within the hour. But this little shit is really getting on your nerves.

     "Annoyed?" It asks. You snort and pretend to be entertained by a loose pebble by the toe of your sneaker. The creature tries to catch your eye by ducking into your field of view, but you just look the opposite direction and are, passively, impressed by both your own and the demon's pettiness. You are going to win this, whatever this is, because you have a printed out instruction sheet and three books on the paranormal so you pretty much know what you're doing. To Hell with this demon. Well, more so, you guess. More to Hell. Forget it.

     The beast sighs. "Well fine," it says. "I'll play."

     "Great!" You snap up from your pouting with a wide smile. "Will you send the Marquise a message for me?"

     "I'm not a secretary! If you want to see her, you have to see me first."

     "Why did you show up and not the Marquise if it's not your job?" You raise an eyebrow at it. "Or... are you just nosy."

     "I'm not nosy!" It splutters. "I'm filling in!"

     "But why you? Are you her favorite or something?"

     "Not important. Bottom line is: It's my business, not yours." Its eyes trail you for a moment, from your face to your feet, slowly, and up again, and it makes you decidedly squirmy. "So... why did a kid like you summon the Marquise?"

     "I'm eighteen, actually, and I wanted to make a deal with her."

     "Don't we all."

     "If you aren't going to take this seriously, then I'll ask you to leave and you won't get any dirt on me or the Marquise." You jab a stubby finger at its bare chest. "So don't think you can keep me occupied long enough that I'll fall asleep and you can escape and wreak havoc because I'm not that stupid."

     It holds up its hands defensively and laughs. "Jeez, Pyrope, okay! Calm your tits, I'll answer your questions."

     "Wait, how do you know my name?"

     "You summoned me with it, dumbass." The demon sits on the asphalt, legs crossed, and leans back on its hands. Given the limited space in the circle, its shins are up against your ankles and it is very difficult to pay attention when you have to tilt your neck down so far. You sit with it, and bump knees to fit inside the summoning ring.

     "I thought that was just a formality thing," you say, ignoring the warmth of its legs and its flyaway hairs at its pointed ears.

     "Nope. Although, your greatest fear is bullshit. 'To lose her again'? What does that even mean?" You clear your throat and avoid the creatures blank, staring eyes.

     "'Bottom line: my business, not yours.'" you say.

     "Your words wound me, Pyrope." It mimes fainting for a moment and peeks at you from behind its hand. "But I'll find out eventually."

     You ignore it. The night is quiet inside of the circle, without even the sounds of traffic to distract you, and the air is warm at your neck but not unpleasant. It's a beautiful night, really, and you think you might enjoy a walk later.

     "I want to make this quick, so I'll make you a deal we can both benefit from." As you speak, the demon's ears perk up and it leans forward excitedly, nearly nose to nose with you. "I'll answer your questions, and you will answer mine."

     The demon tilts its head, considering. "So we're just going to sit here and talk all night? That's not very wise, little witch."

     "I know. But it should be over quick, right? When we're satisfied with our answers, I'll excuse you and we can go our separate ways. Then you can put a few good words in with the Marquise for me." The demon squints for a moment, cerulean eyes darkening. It extends its hand.

     "Deal."


	3. Step Three: Screw Up Royally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I go first," you say shakily. "Who are you?" 
> 
> This was NOT in your instructions.

You shake hands and a chill surrounds you. The air seems to buzz again, and the ground shakes slightly beneath you as you jerk your hand away. The coins tip and tap against the blacktop and the magic 8 ball fluid runs in all directions like fireworks. Goosebumps roll in waves up your arms to your neck and all you can see is that goddamned glint in this demon's eyes. 

"I go first," you say shakily. "Who are you?"

"My name is Vriska," the creature purrs with a clack of sharp teeth, "I'm a high-ranking demon."

"Demon? Or demoness?" you ask, avoiding glancing down at its leather-clad form. It looks disgusted. 

"Does it matter, little witch?" it retorts. "Human ideas of gender are deplorable and inherently prejudiced. I'm a demon." 

"Sorry!" you say quickly. You should try to avoid offending demons. "I didn't mean to step on any toes. Or... hooves." Vriska shifts for a moment with a wicked grin. 

"This look like a hoof to you, bitch?" it taunts, wiggling its grimy foot in your face. You slap its leg away in disgust and it hoots with laughter. 

"Fine, okay, no hooves." You eye it cautiously. "But please never touch me with your feet again."

"Another deal. We are just on a roll tonight." It sits normally again, back to running its fingers down its hair and admiring itself. You wonder if it's a nervous habit, always having its hands on itself. Now that you have a chance to look at its form without the fear of being eaten alive or banished to Hell or whisked away on a demonic adventure, you see that the demon is kind of... well, pretty. It's nothing to call home about--plus it's a demon, so it's better your folks don't know anything about it--but Vriska's eyes are wide and round with a feathering of thick lashes, and its nose is straight. Its lips curl up at the corners. 

"So why are you filling in for the Marquise?" you ask when it catches you staring. 

"Captain's orders. I don't know why, but she doesn't like greeting her own guests." 

"Too good for dirty work?"

"Guess so." It smiles, and you resist the urge to look away from its mess of jagged teeth.

"Is this all you do, then? Answer for the Marquise?"

"I have customers of my own."

"Is that what you call humans?"

It grins wickedly. "Only the ones I like."

"So, what, are you a succu--"

"It's my turn now!" it interrupts, cackling. You frown at the clearly unfair move.

"But I wasn't do--" The demon rushes forward and covers your mouth with its hand and that familiar jolt runs down your spine again.

"Bzzbzzup! My turn." Vriska pulls its hand away. "How many demons have you summoned?" It just keeps smiling, the evil thing, and you have to do some serious poker face-ing to answer the question. You are an amazing demon summoner, thank you very much, and you've summoned tens of demons, bordering on nearly one hundred of them, yes, that's right, nearly a hundred demons. You are an excellent demon summoner. An expert. Take that, Vriska-the-Nosy. Ha. 

You realize you aren't saying any of this aloud. 

You try to choke out just a "Plenty, thank you," but the back of your throat burns with the kind of icy heat that you recognize in the humming in the air and the buzz in your spine. Magic. You can't lie to this demon. You can only hope the reverse is true, as well. 

"You're the first," you admit into your lap. 

"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Little witches like you shouldn't aim so high their first time." Its teeth gleam in the dark. 

"I got you, though, didn't I?"

"Not the Marquise." 

"Stop rubbing it in!" You lean over your knees, head in hands, and think for a moment. "Wait... Is that why she didn't show up? Because I'm inexperienced?"

"Because the Marquise of Demons totally pours her heart out to me before she sends me on her tedious errands. I don't know why."

Around you the sky begins to lighten and the horizon goes a pale green. It can't have been more than an hour. You haven't been here for more than an hour, right? In the light you can see the demon's features better now, and note the thin scars along its shoulders and up its neck, and the demon's deadly sigil tattooed in a slithering, breathing blue ink across its neck and chest. It's nearly morning, and you have to end this ritual right now.

"Vriska," you say, and it looks startled that you dare say its name aloud, "I need to summon the Marquise."

The creature stares at you for a moment, then stands. 

"I didn't get to ask my questions tonight. Which means this isn't over."

As you look up at Vriska, you see the sky lightening rapidly, and your heart threatens to pound as it did when you summoned this beast in the first place. You know the consequences for not fulfilling a deal. Death, possession, capture. You have to get rid of this thing as soon as you can. If it stays until the sun rises... You don't know what will happen. You are not as good at demon summoning as you thought. 

Vriska bends down to take your face in its hands and pulls you up roughly, your legs fumbling to untangle and stand before your neck breaks in its grip. When it speaks, its breath is a black cloud around you, and its voice is menacing. 

"You owe me, Pyrope."

"We just didn't have enough time--"

"No," it says, in a quiet hiss that silences you immediately. "You. Owe. Me."

Before you can ask it to leave, or re-light the candle, or do anything the instructions tell you you must do, the demon is up against you, smiling that god-awful smile with its claws on your hips, and you're stumbling backwards. Your foot lands on the ring of nickles, and as you slip on it to find footing, you slide a coin out of the circle. You have opened its cage.

Vriska sucks in a breath as if it were struck, and a slow smile creeps across its face. Buzzing fills the air once more and your body is tense with adrenaline. This was not in your instructions. 

The demon's face is inches from yours, eyes wild. 

"I will help you summon the Marquise, little witch, because you just want it so badly," it breathes, its skin beginning to glow and blur at the edges like city lights in the dark, "but know that when I do, you will owe me anything I want." It traces your collarbones with a long talon and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. "It could be your life. It could be your body. It could be my time you wasted. But you will owe me." 

With those final words, Vriska bounces on its toes with new energy, and backs out of the ring unscathed. Its eyes are a fierce, flashing blue, and it is the last thing you see before the creature you summoned escapes into the early morning.


	4. Step Four: Dig Your Grave Deeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your fault, your fault, your fault.

Those eyes stay in your mind during your fitful night's sleep tangled in your old sheets. You lie awake as the sun peeps through the blinds and illuminates thin strips of your bed. Eyelids heavy, body exhausted, you pull the soft covers around you and try to push the worry from your mind and all you get in return are those blank, staring eyes. 

The drive home was a tense one. Tears pricked at your eyes, your breath caught, your heart ached with every second closer to home. You failed, you failed, you failed. You failed at something you had the goddamn directions for and not only did you not summon the Marquise of Demons, but you summoned her shitty knockoff brand--something much more annoying and impulsive and angry and bitter--and now, because you can never do anything right, you may have just unleashed a horrible force on your hometown and... you sighed deeply. You were sighing all the way home. 

You walked around your apartment three times with your little pouch of lavender, chanting nonsense, and you knew it was no use. You walked the opposite direction around every room with your white candles, chanting more nonsense, and you felt stupid. You took a shower to cleanse your body of demonic attachments but could do little more than stand under the shower head and pretend the wetness on your cheeks weren't tears. Only lukewarm shower water. 

And now, in the warm embrace of your worn cotton sheets, you let yourself sigh again, and let the tears fall again, and you wrap your arms around yourself and drift into sleep. 

. . . 

You wake up suddenly in a panic, clutching your chest as if all your breath were stolen from your lungs. 

"Hey, Pyrope."

You jerk away from the noise, smacking your skull against the wall and falling back onto the pillow with pain. You're dizzy, and your eyesight has always been awful, but you can just make out a fuzzy dark shape looming a few feet away, blocking the morning light. You grope the nightstand for your glasses with shaking hands and are wholly unsurprised and unhappy when you see that the visitor is Vriska. 

"Demons aren't supposed to enter houses uninvited," you say, hiding the fear in your voice and propping yourself on an elbow. You squint at the demon, not bothering to hide your annoyance. It looks more real somehow. Its edges are sharper and its color is brighter. More focused. It's probably your fault. 

"Summoners aren't supposed to release us, either, so..." Vriska sits nonchalantly on the edge of your bed and your legs curl up away from it. If it knows what you're feeling, it doesn't show it. You squeeze out of the covers and reach for your phone. If this turns sour, you want to have a lifeline. You tuck it into the elastic of your boxers and glare daggers at the intruder. 

"Why are you here."

It inspects its nails. "Can't I visit my favorite little witch?" it says innocently. 

"I don't want to see you," you say, swallowing the lump in your throat that suddenly rises. This... thing visiting is your fault. Your fault, your fault, your fault. "Not now or ever."

"You are always so callous, aren't you? Whatever. You should have thought about that before you refused to finish our deal."

Your eyes sting as you pull on your shirt hem, frustrated. "We didn't have time! Morning was coming!"

"You came up with it in the first place. It's not like I forced you to make a deal. Sometimes demons are harsh, darling. It's a good lesson to learn on your first demon summoning."

"Get out of my house, Vriska!" you shriek, hopping slightly like a child throwing a tantrum. Is that what this is? Just a tantrum? "Get out of my house RIGHT NOW!"

As you try to slow your breaths, Vriska holds up its hands and its eyes go wide. 

"Yikes, okay, I'm sorry. Sorry." It moves towards you and you jump back. "Listen, because we didn't finish our deal, I'm stuck with you. It doesn't help that you apparently think about me a lot--oh, don't give me that look. It's true. I can feel it. It ties me to you, Pyrope. I'm free from that circle but I'm not free from this plane yet." 

Not wanting to get close to the creature again, you slump into a desk chair and cover your face with your hands. You feel overwhelmingly shitty. This didn't go right at all. You curse the paranormal sites you bookmarked for this. You curse everyone who gave you advice. You curse the money you spent and the time you invested and the mistakes your incredibly glitchy brain made. The demon gets up from the bed and pads across the wood floor towards you. 

"Don't touch me." 

"I'm making it up to you." You glance up, and Vriska is staring with those flat eyes. "I said I would help you summon the Marquise. And I will." 

Something stirs inside you but you can't tell if it's good or bad. You just know that it hurts. It reminds you of riverbanks and old boyfriends and a childhood friend. 

"Fine." Your voice is sure. Strong. You stand and face the demon. "But as soon as we're even, I want you gone."

"You answer my questions, we summon the Marquise, and I'll be out of your hair," it says, lips hinting at a nasty smirk. In the light of day, you can see the dark circles beneath its eyes, and the dimpling cheek on one side. They are the kind of details that make you want to smack this demon across its filthy face. "I'll be gone. Not just out of your house. I'll escort my bad self out of this entire plane. Deal?"

"I won't have to hear from you again?" Something changes in its smile for a moment, but with a blink the creature is smug as ever. 

"Not a peep."

You know this is a bad idea. You made a deal, ruined it, and let a beast run rampant around the neighborhood while you slept. Another deal could go just as badly, if not worse. But your mind skips over this. You are thinking of dirt between your toes and running without ever being fast enough. You are remembering shrill cries and cool breeze and frigid water. You are considering other debts. 

You reach out your hand and you are immediately met with Vriska's. 

"Deal," you say together.


	5. Step Five: Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You kind of like this new demoness.

It takes several minutes of insisting that, yes, you really do need to eat breakfast before you jump straight into full-on summoning another demon, and, seriously, you need to get dressed before you can go shopping for supplies. Despite how comical it could have been, what with having a demon visitor not understanding basic human functions and draping itself over every piece of furniture in your home by way of protest, you aren't amused. The echoing chants of "Failure!" in the back of your mind suck up any other emotions that may rise. You are all business now. There is no room for mistakes now that you have seen the consequences. You hope this goes well. 

"You have to be confident when you summon," Vriska says, following you to your car after you ate and dressed, "You have to know that they'll do what you want. You have to be the badder bitch because chances are the demon's thinking the same thing." You close the car door and enjoy two complete seconds of silence before you spot its face in your rear-view mirror, smiling at you from the back seat. You start the car. 

"Despite what your dumb instructions probably said, the only important rule to follow is to stand your ground." It continues, "The candles and coins and chanting or whatever offensive rituals humans deem necessary are just something extra. You could probably summon any low-ranking demon by sheer will alone, but you might not like them showing up every time you summon anything. Once you get better I'm sure you won't need this." You grunt in reply. Vriska growls when you turn sharply around a corner. 

"Who are we summoning, anyway?" You ask as you pull into the grocery parking lot. 

"Friend of mine," it answers, its voice hinting at a smile. You roll your eyes. 

You pick out everything Vriska tells you to: one pack of cigarettes, two tall candlesticks, one green and one purple, and a small bag of candy. You are confused but buy them all as Vriska hurries you to the checkout. It assures you that you are the only one who can see it, but you'd be embarrassed about being escorted around by a half-naked demon even if you were alone. 

When you return to your apartment, you follow Vriska's directions, turning off all lights and locking all windows and doors and lowering the blinds. You give it the two candles to hold. 

"Summoning this demon will be different," it says as you find your lighter from last night, "Because we'll be doing it in your house."

"I thought that was like a Big Rule, like, to never ever summon a demon in your home."

"This demon is different. She's both a daylight demon, and bad at hiding herself. So you need to be somewhere private. And since you live in this overpopulated sinkhole, someone is bound to notice a demon summoning at two in the afternoon in the nearby dog park." When you eye the creature, unsure, it sighs. "She's not one to stick around. She has... a lot of hobbies back home. When you tell her to leave, she won't come back until you summon her again." 

Satisfied, you flick the lighter. As you light the candles, they begin to plume green-tinted smoke. As before when summoning Vriska, you immediately feel a presence near you, like a heaviness you can't quite touch, and a low hum like a woman's voice drifts and echoes from wall to wall around you. You ignore the goosebumps that rise. 

"That's different."

"Since I'm here," Vriska says as the olive smoke rises and grows, coiling around its hair and twisting higher into the air, "You don't need to do any chanting business. It'll be like a phone call." The room seems to darken unnaturally for so early in the day, but your surroundings are still clearly visible. You watch the smoke as a large cloud of it lowers to your couch and settles like fog over the cushions. 

"This isn't going to set my smoke alarm off, is it?" 

"Of course not. Now shh! She's coming. Light a cigarette." 

As you do, you feel an overwhelming sense of dread like fingers climbing up your back and the form on the couch solidifies, crunching down into a vaguely humanoid form that slowly sharpens and intensifies as you watch. 

The shape is... really, really pretty. The demoness has long, curling hair like a cloud and dark, hazy eyes. The smoke around her tinges purple slightly, wrapping around her like a cage, and you wonder briefly about the color. Something about it makes you a little sad for her. The creature lounges on the couch with an air of importance, but smiles like a child playing a trick. She first only looks at Vriska, waggling her eyebrows (which makes you bite back a laugh), but when she spots you, her well made-up eyes go wide. 

"Oh!" she says loudly. "You have a friend! Hi!" She sits up and beckons you over. You look to Vriska to see if the coast is clear, but it just looks disgusted that you checked. You sit beside her on the couch. 

"Uh, hello." Up close the demon glows with happiness, and her smile is wide and contagious, if a little absent-looking.

"Hi! Is that for me?" she nods at the cigarette in your hand and you give it to her. She leans back on the couch to smoke. 

"I don't actually know who you are," you say as she puffs bright green rings. You notice the mystery guest watching your lips out of the corner of her eye as you speak. "Vriska wanted me to summon you, but wouldn't tell me anything." She nods. 

"Well, I'm Meulin," she says amiably, patting your leg. The familiar shock of contact runs down your thigh to your toes. She smiles quickly, then goes back to smoking. 

"Terezi wants to summon the Marquise," Vriska says as it walks towards you both. 

"Oooh." Meulin looks at you as if this were good news. 

"But the first time she tried, she got me instead. And then ruined our deal and released me." You resist the urge to punch the demon in the face. 

"Bummer. I'm sure you'll get it eventually." She offers an understanding nod. You resist the urge to giggle. Is she drunk or something? You thought demons were supposed to be intense and scary and shit. 

"Anyway," it continues, "Pyrope needs to make some deals with higher-ups so she'll impress the Marquise and maybe get an audience with her. They don't have to be big, but they have to be official. I thought we would start with you because you're so... friendly." Meulin nods along, watching Vriska's mouth as it speaks, then nods enthusiastically. 

"Sounds good to me! Let's make a deal." She puts out her cigarette on her leg and the butt disappears. 

"Like what?" 

"Like... We can exchange ships if you want. Gossip?" You consider it for a moment. Gossip can't be that bad. You agree, and shake hands. Meulin practically bounces in her seat telling you her story. 

"I personally ADORE Vriska and this one girl back home. They're both kind of violent, kind of aggressive... She and I go way back. I really think they'd hit it off. Wouldn't it be kind of sexy?" Vriska glares at her, holding the candles and pouting like a child. You kind of like this demoness. "In the demon world, romance is very short-lived. It's tragic. As a succubus, I honestly don't remember how many partners I've had, human or demon or otherwise, and there are a LOT of succubi and incubi like me. I can't keep track of all the pairings sometimes, so I never know what it's like for humans." She looks at you and waits, so you assume she wants you to share. 

"Well, I haven't really had any long term partners, either. Or any short term ones." When Meulin tilts her head in polite confusion you hurry to keep talking. "See, in the human world, everyone is vastly different. I can't really speak for anyone but myself, and I've never really been interested enough to be in a relationship with someone."

"Never? That's really different, Terezi. I don't want to be mean, but I just can't wrap my head around that!"

You smile to reassure her. "You can't always be attracted to the people who summon you as a succubus, can you?"

"Well, no."

"I'm similar, but I've never been interested, so I've never had any partners." Meulin nods and leans forward. You continue, remembering. "I did have a very, very close friend for about four years. We were together all the time. I loved her a lot, as much as a romantic relationship, but we never did any... partnering business. We were like sisters. I would spend the rest of my life with her if I could." You leave out her unhappy ending. 

"That's beautiful, Terezi! I'm so happy for you! I have to consider this when I'm observing humans, now. There's so many more possibilities!" Meulin beams up at Vriska, who glances at the unopened bag of candy on the table. You grab them and hand them to Meulin. 

"Thanks for making a deal with me."

"Oh wow, thank you! You're so sweet!" She kisses your cheek and waves. "We should do this again sometime!" As Vriska blows out the candles, her form shifts to one side like the resulting smoke, and, when Vriska opens the door, she disappears into the daylight with the rest of the green fog and leaves the room bright and clean. You flop over and lay face-down on the couch, exhausted. 

"You did good, little witch." 

"Mrrrrff."

"Rest while you can. We'll summon the next one in a few hours."

As you drift into a nap, you imagine fingers brushing back your hair. You recognize them somehow, but in your haze you can't quite place who they belong to. When you dream, you dream of laughing until your sides hurt--of childhood and smiling and skinny arms around you.


	6. Step Six: Acquire the Burden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We offer you the burden of knowledge," the voice at your left says.   
> "If you offer us the respect of listening," the voice at your right says.

When you wake, you wake on your own and without a start. When you wake, you do so slowly and peacefully. The sun is lower in the sky and the light glows in strips of warm peach across the living room walls. You sit up and regret sleeping on the couch, as your muscles ache slightly and your neck is very sore. All those sites you visited for tips on summoning Vriska said you'd be tired after summoning any demon, as they suck up energy from summoners just to be visible, but you didn't think the change would be so extreme. 

You pad across the wood floors to the kitchen and look for food, rubbing your tired eyes. The fridge light illuminates your face for a moment as you peer around like you don't know what's in there. However, someone quickly shuts the fridge door and you don't have a chance to trick yourself into finding something appetizing. 

"No food," Vriska says, ruffling your hair as it passes you. You groan. 

"I'm hungry. I barely had any breakfast because you rushed me." Vriska busies itself packing granola bars and snack-sized candy bars into an old plastic grocery bag and you don't have the energy to ask why. You'll just let it tell you its evil plan this time. You pour yourself a glass of water and drink, hoping to wake up fully. 

"The next demons we summon won't have a boundary. No summoning circles, no room, no nothing. You have to be able to summon and banish demons without a summoning circle if you want to summon someone like the Marquise." There is a silence while it waits for you to protest or sound shocked or something but you ignore it and sip your water. The demon continues eventually. "You'll be summoning them outside and on the run. You can't fall asleep from exhaustion while summoning without a circle unless you want to really screw up your life, so I'm bringing snacks. Usually summoners can push through until the end even when they're tired, but you seem pretty damn fragile." You dry off your cup and put it back in the cupboard.

"Who am I summoning this time? Another friend of yours?" you ask. Vriska looks back at you over its shoulder. 

"The Maryam sisters," it replies as it turns back around to rifle through your pantry. "They're pretty intense, but they've never seriously injured a summoner. Plus, I'll be there, so it won't be that bad." It pauses, looking back at you again. "Just... don't make a fool of yourself, okay? If you think I'm hard to deal with--ha! They're always fussing and meddling. At least I let you sleep." You are too tired to really comprehend what it's saying right now, so you just nod and look at the floor. 

"Can I at least have a snack or something?" you ask. Vriska groans. 

"Fine. It won't jump-start the apocalypse if you have a snack. Go crazy." 

You unclip a baggy of chips and eat on the couch happily. Vriska finishes packing before you are done eating, so it sits on your coffee table and stares at you. Then it lays on the table and insults you quietly. Then it rolls off the coffee table and sits by the door. By the time you put the food away and slip on shoes, Vriska is waiting outside and tapping its foot as if the event took not five minutes but thirty. You join Vriska outside. 

"Finally. Now. Take this." It hands you the baggy of snacks. "I'm gonna walk behind you, but you'll do the summoning. Start walking." You have no idea what's happening, or how you're supposed to summon multiple demons without candles or metals or offerings at all, but you do as you're told in your sleepy haze and you start walking down the long sidewalk near your apartment building. 

Living in a small town, in your opinion, has more disadvantages than advantages, but one thing you've always loved about this place is the wide open sky and long paths to get lost on. There are very few tall buildings, and most, if not all, houses in your area are spread apart and low to the ground. So now, as you walk along leisurely, you can fully admire the beginning sunset and the pinks, oranges, and reds that dance along the horizon. Vriska follows quietly behind you, surprisingly unobtrusive for once, and you have the first few moments of relaxation since last night. Wow. Only last night since this happened. 

"Repeat after me," Vriska says. You nod. "I, Terezi Pyrope, summon the Sisters Maryam." 

"I, Terezi Pyrope, summon the Sisters Maryam," you parrot.

"In birth and death, and now in silence..."

"In birth and death, and now in silence..."

"I wish to hear the Mothers of Demons."

"Mothers of Demons?" you hiss, beginning to turn around. Vriska slaps your cheek forward and growls, pushing your back to keep you moving. 

"DON'T look back. They're already here." You wonder if Vriska is a little afraid of these demons. Even if it speaks from anxiety, it's right. You can feel the heaviness in your bones and otherworldly whispers in your hair. "If you turn around they won't trust you and they'll bounce right off back to Hell. So look forward and keep walking."

Your sneakers tap on the concrete in a steady rhythm, but your heart isn't steady at all. With only your familiar surroundings and the sunset to look at, the tight knot in your stomach and cold sweat at your neck shouldn't be there. You doubt you'll be able to walk this path again without remembering the sickening drop in your stomach as two pairs of hands run down either side of your legs. You cringe. You force yourself to keep walking. 

The hands are soon accompanied by voices, echoing in the back of your head like a childhood tune. They are nearly identical, singing a song in a language you don't recognize. As you round a curve in the sidewalk, the voices are suddenly in each ear. Your heart pounds wildly and you resist the urge to shake your head and shake their whispers off. They are two demons, you can tell, by the slight difference in tempo of their sing-song speech in tongues like crackling fire. Though you can't translate the words, you know what they say. 

They're behind you. Their breath brushes your neck and cheeks when they sing softly their instructions. They're there, and yet you know they are not. You know that if you turned around, there would be nothing there. And yet the sensations all around you are very real, very intense, and already you find your body wishing for a break. 

"Introduce yourselves," Vriska instructs. At this, the voices jabber quicker like a stream of bubbles, all small, round words in quick succession. You take that as a good sign. 

"Porrim," sings a voice in your left ear over the excited din in your right, "And on the other side--"

"Kanaya," sings the voice in your right ear, as the bubbling babble continues in your left. It's enough to make you dizzy, and Vriska bumps your baggy of snacks with its leg. Oh, right. Can't pass out. You take a piece of chocolate from the bag and focus on eating it instead of the carousel of songs spinning in your head. You think you feel a little bit better. 

"I'm trying to summon the Marquise soon," you say. Oddly, you can only sense your voice in the humming at your throat. All you can hear is the Sisters' singing. "Do you know the Marquise of Demons?" 

The singing in your ears turns to shrieks that immediately send you reeling. You fight to keep walking, hands over your ears, as the ungodly wailing circles around you. Tears prick at your eyes. 

"THE MARQUISE DEFILED OUR MOTHER," the voices cry. "THE UNHOLY MOTHER OF DEMONS WAS MADE UNCLEAN AT THE HANDS OF YOUR MARQUISE."

"I'm sorry!" Your legs are heavy, and you fear you may vomit. The voices are loud, inhumanly loud, and shake you to your very core. Vriska is pushing you, shoving you forward to keep walking and you continue your mechanic walk. Left, right, left, right, while the screams echo left, right, left, right. The voices only get louder, but you keep walking. 

"OUR MOTHER. OUR MOTHER. OUR MOTHER. OUR MOTHER. OUR MOTHER." The voices chant in your ears, slightly off from one another, and your ears ring loudly. You stumble, and you know these demons are sucking up your energy to grieve so intensely. You eat another snack and force your legs to move, however slow. The very ground beneath you shakes with the power of these demons. And you must admit to yourself: you are afraid. 

"Stop!" you plead, resisting the shouts that seem to push you, crunch you lower to the concrete. "Stop! I just want to make a deal!"

All is silent save for your soft footsteps. You take a deep breath in, and a long breath out. The sun is midway under the horizon now, dipping low as if into a tub of impressive, gorgeous color. 

"We offer you the burden of knowledge," the voice at your left says. 

"If you offer us the respect of listening," the voice at your right says. 

"Deal." 

Before you flash images that go too fast for your eyes to follow. You see the sidewalk to follow but you also see thousands of dead humans, blood pooling over the surface of the ocean. You see rum spilling over bodies of dead crew, people you loved, and you feel the haughty laughter of a captain that slew them--you smell the brine of life at sea. You feel the guilt of killing many times over. The blood on your hands goes up to your shoulders, and it is barely midday. Your slave girl stares up to you with blank eyes and you stare back with eager ones. Her skin is raw and red from the ropes that bind her and you throw her life away. Well. Your lover does that. You feel the grief of these sisters down to your bones, and you hate yourself, and you hate the history, and you know weeping for a hundred years would never fill the hole the Marquise ripped out. 

You see an audience laughing and jeering before you, and the roughness of a noose tightening around your neck.

The sisters whisper their thanks and wipe away the tears that stream down your cheeks with ghostly fingertips. They vanish like smoke as quick as they came. 

Vriska claps you on the back and you sit on the curb, head in your hands. You're too exhausted to reach for any of the food, and too exhausted to cry. You just sit, and try to wish away the pounding headache that sets your stomach sick. 

"How was it, huh?" it asks, full of excitement. "Did you see the Marquise? Wasn't she cool?"

You can only wonder how all of this happened, and how you can ever get out of it.


	7. Step Seven: Answer Its Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Get some sleep, little witch."

The night is near now, and the sky tinged a midnight blue with all the warmth of an embrace. After you and Vriska returned home and you took a few painkillers for your intolerable headache, the demon, mercifully, allowed you to sleep if it had permission to watch cartoons all night. You agreed, and left Vriska illuminated in the bright blue light of the television. 

You return to your one happy place--your bedroom. The walls are pale teal, with colorful posters you never bothered to inspect in the store further than their designs, and dream catchers that hang from the side of your nightstand, off the headboard, and taped to the ceiling above your pillow. Books lay in disheveled piles beside a cherry red desk, all paperback, dog-eared, and well-loved by your eager hands.

You change into pajamas--a long shirt and shorts--and curl into the corner of your bed against the cool wall. You pile the blankets on top of you and close your eyes. 

You think of this mess you've made. From summoning that beast to dealing with it, breaking the deal and letting it loose, summoning a succubi and two more demons, witnessing what you think was a horrifying massacre at the hands of the demon you are training to summon, and going to bed with the archdemon's secretary in the other room. You told yourself you would be strong, and so you are, but so much has happened in so little time that you barely have a moment to catch up. You suppose all adventures start like this. 

Your last adventure did. It started with slipping on shoes already tied, and sprinting down the unpaved streets by your childhood home. The two of you raced, like usual, and she let you win, like usual. You giggled with her as you ran down the nearby muddy slopes and explored the creek that ran all the way up one side of the rural town, tens of feet across and miles long. The water was never very high--only about midcalf height on you ten year olds--but it was clear and fast, and if you were lucky, the two of you could catch crawfish and silvery minnows with your cupped hands. Once, your friend found a long garden snake slithering on the shore, and she waved the thing at you like she might a worm. You remember you screamed and fell onto your bottom in the freezing water. You yelped, thrashing, and she helped you up. You laughed together. Remembering, you laugh a little to yourself now. 

Something knocks at your door. 

"C'min," you say sleepily. Vriska opens the door slowly, peering inside. 

"I don't know how to use the remote." It sounds embarrassed, and you smile. 

"I'll help you. One second." You heave the blankets off of you and follow Vriska to the living room. Some kids' show plays, with brightly-colored animals that can apparently, and remarkably, speak Portuguese. While you are impressed by the creativity involved, you get wanting to change the channel. You show Vriska the remote. 

"These two buttons change the channel up and down, and this button takes you to the menu, like this." You demonstrate. "From here you can sort of look around to find what you want. Here you go." It takes the remote and jabs the buttons with its long, black talons. It lands on an old Nicholas Cage movie. 

"What's this about?" it asks, facing you but with its eyes glued to the screen. As it starts to lower itself to the couch, you follow suit absentmindedly. 

"I don't know," you say, leaning against the arm of the couch as Vriska leans against the other. "A friend of mine loved these kinds of movies, but I could never pay attention."

"Well I'm going to watch it because it seems pretty fucking spectacular."

Somehow, as it watches the movie and you watch it, the two of you slump lower into the cushions and you have to maneuver your legs around so nobody gets kicked in the face. You pray to God it doesn't touch you with its feet again. 

When you come to, the movie is rolling credits in white text on a black background, and the living room is dark. You can see Vriska's outline, just barely, as it watches the screen with blank interest. 

"Was it any good?" you ask. 

"Life changing." You snort at that. 

Vriska sits up straight, pulling itself up on the armrest to sit cross-legged and face you. 

"I still have questions," it says. Its blue eyes gleam expectantly down at you. 

"It's late," you say, "and I'm tired." You are reminded of yesterday night, and the staring match that seemed to never stop until Vriska escaped. It just stares. No complaining, no insulting, no cursing. Just staring. You sigh. 

"Why do you want to summon the Marquise?" 

"It's really late, Vriska, I don't think--"

"Tell me."

You take a deep breath and sit up as well, leaning against the back of the couch. The credits roll on and on. 

"For my friend." 

"What was she like?"

"Unlucky," you say, and you chuckle. "I mean, I guess she didn't help herself any. She was always kind of reckless. Getting into fights, jumping off of high places, doing dares no one really dared her to do, that sort of thing. She was rowdy, too. Rowdy like she would steal and cheat and lie to people to didn't deserve it. She was just plain mean for a kid."

"Why did you like her, if she was such an asshole?"

"I guess just always did. We grew up together. We went to school and learned to read and played kickball together. She wasn't a good person or a good friend." 

"So what happened? Did she just decide you were a huge sap and leave you?"

"Not exactly." Vriska doesn't nod you on, but its attention is still on you, so you continue. "We were playing one day, in this creek by my house. She... slipped. On a cliff path by the river. She fell pretty badly and drowned."

Vriska doesn't offer condolences, or look phased. It just stares. Always staring. You swallow around the lump in your throat. 

"I want to see her." You say. "That's all." 

"And your greatest fear is to lose her again." It's deadpan, monotone, but it punches you in the heart and you can't stop the tears that rise to stream down your cheeks. Vriska offers no comforting touches or glances or words. It waits for you to calm down. 

"Yeah." 

Vriska gets up from its seat and squeezes your shoulder as it passes you, drifting towards your room. 

"Get some sleep, little witch." 

It closes your bedroom door quietly, leaving you to cry until you calmed, and hate yourself until you fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so short, but if this were a novel, this would honestly be after one of those breaks and just sort of tacked on to rest of the chapter, so please imagine it that way if you want


	8. Step Eight: Remember Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She is your friend, but she is also Spinneret. You don't know which one of them you're mad at. You don't know which one you're afraid of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Careful, guys! This chapter is a little violent and includes hurting animals, okay? Nothing is super graphic, though, so I'm going to keep a T rating. Thank you!

It is the hottest day of your entire young life. You can feel your thick black hair puffing up in the humidity like a finicky cat, and your sweat soaks the underarms of your cherry red tank top. Beside you, your friend isn't faring much better, slicking back her ponytail of pale curls with splashes from her sharpie-anagrammed water bottle, and stopping every now and then to adjust the backside seam of her jean shorts. You bump her with a shoulder slick from sweat, and she stumbles off the shore into tall weeds.

"You ass," she says, completely devoid of emotion, shoving you back. She's too dehydrated and tired to do much to you. You cackle at first, but quickly lose energy choking on the hot air that rushes down your throat. 

"It's hot."

"Is it, shit-for-brains?" She taunts. The other girl tosses her water bottle at you without warning, and you catch it as it just barely misses your chin.

"You sure you want me to contaminate this?" you say, grinning. She shrugs, swats away a mosquito. 

"Sisters, remember?" she says, kicking a rock and watching it skitter into the grass. "I don't mind sharing with family."

"You outta be nicer to me if we're sisters."

"Nah, it's classic sibling rivalry." 

"Like you'd know."

"Thanks to you, I do."

You share grins with her, lopsided, scheming teeth, a smiling trait you both share. She's missing a canine tooth and you've got braces on your bottom teeth. The blonde snatches her water bottle back and grins as she downs the rest of the water. She struggles with closing the bottle. 

"We there yet?" she whines. You point down to the familiar bend in the creek, the sides matted and choked with weeds and buzzing with insects. 

"See there?" 

"Yeah?" 

"That's halfway."

"Shiiiiiiiit." 

The two of you are exploring your favorite haunt: the creek by your house. You're headed to a favorite spot, with good climbing trees and an old picnic bench that overlooks the long path of the water from a high drop off. You used to bring lunches to your current destination, but it tended to be a hassle, so today you are empty-handed. 

You've played in this creek so many times you've lost count. Your preference for this struggling, scraggly stream started at some housewarming party your street threw for your friend's family when they first moved in. Her house wasn't nice--it was an ugly yellowish grey, squat, and was missing patches of carpet--but she was on your street so apparently that's what adults had to do for newcomers. You helped your parents make apple pie from big, round apples. You didn't understand why you had to use Granny Smith apples when the Red Delicious ones were SO much more enticing, but you followed their instructions. Eventually, the newcoming family and their rude kid came over to your house for a little barbecue. You were allowed to stay long enough to drink orange fizz from a plastic cup and tell the scrawny blonde that you made the apple pie, yeah, that one over there, but after that, you were banished. Adults shooed the two of you away with hands full of chips or beer bottles. "Go and play," they said. "Just go and play somewhere." 

When you showed your new acquaintance the parting in the trees at the end of your wide backyard, her eyes gleamed. She faked disinterest, but you knew she took a shining to the place. You showed her how to walk sideways down the muddy slopes that led to the pebble shores of the creek, and she caught on quickly. You showed her the right way to play in the water--a lot of ten year olds got it wrong--and she ignored you, splashing you from the deep side and soaking her blue dress. You forgave her after she tripped on a rock and fell face-first into the chilly water. She only grumbled for a few minutes before she was back at causing trouble. 

"It'll go faster if we talk," you suggest. The water is shallow and clean, and the path you walk is seated low between tall walls of mud and tree roots. You think someone could climb up the roots if they wanted, using them like footholds and handles. 

"About what?"

"I dunno," you say, kicking rocks as you walk, "just stuff." 

Your friend starts bouncing and hopping as she walks, splashing a bit accidentally. "Can we be Spinneret and Neophyte again?"

You smile devilishly. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who're they?" The blonde girl pulls on you, tripping you up with her feet in her excitement. 

"Come on come on come on! Pleeeeeeeease?" she fakes a very serious face that you resist the urge to laugh at. "She wants to come out. I can feel it. Spinneret is getting restless."

"Oh how awful! You'll just have to hold it." 

"Hold it?! I don't have to pee, I have to be Mindfang, you actual fart!" You make a sound with your face that sounds very similar to just that, and you're laughing hard, bent over your stomach. "I'm serious!"

"Ha! Okay, haha, okay, Spinneret, you, ha, got me!" She pushes you again, but you swerve back wildly and she falls backwards into the water instead. 

"You're the worst!" she squeals as she sloshes in her boots to catch up with you. The two of you round the curve and you see your friend straighten slightly out of the corner of your eye. She isn't very tall, or very impressive in stature, but she is pale and ghostly and when she commands attention, she gets it. You tilt your chin up, not looking at her, sensing her little game. 

"If you won't play along, I shall play alone," she says, suddenly with a precise British accent. "I'm not so pretentious as to refuse a little fun."

"You underestimate me, dear Spinneret," you reply, dipping low to grab a long stick from the ground to use as your fashionable cane. "We legislacerators know fun just as well as corrupt pirates do. We just don't kill anyone for it."

"Oh you kill, I've seen you kill. You just don't kill civilians."

"I suppose that's true. But our kind of killing is for good, not fun."

"Then what gooooooood is it?"

The two of you walk in silence for a moment, listening to the birds chirping overhead. Sometimes your friend says things you don't really understand. You know she's pretending, and you know she's a good actress, but still. Something doesn't sit right when she's Spinneret. When she's acting, she plucks the wings from moths and paints the dust on her cheeks. When she's acting, she holds cicadas underwater, spears worms with sticks, puts minnows on flat stones to dry out in the sizzling sun. 

"There's the ladder!" she chirps, pointing at the old rope ladder you once tied to a tree far above the creek. It's long enough to reach from the strong trunk of the tree, across the small landing space, and down the fifteen-foot drop. When you helped your friend hang the ladder, you were sure to put it in a place with a lot of tree roots. They stuck through the spaces like reaching arms. She said it would help if the ladder broke, though. She starts toward it. 

"I think it's time you turn yourself in, Mindfang." 

"For what crime?" she says, pulling on the ladder to test it. 

"No innocent woman speaks like you do."

"That's no basis for a trial. You're just insulting me now." She starts climbing. 

"Maybe. But His Tyranny would love a trial this time of year. I hear it's perfect weather for execution."

"I'll go to the gallows when you actually have some dirt on me, Neophyte. Until then, you can suck it!" At this you rap her leg above you with your makeshift cane. 

"Spinneret would never say that!" you say. She doesn't look at you, now halfway up the ladder. 

"Sure she would," she replies, "I said it, so why wouldn't she?" When she finally reaches the edge, she heaves herself onto the landing like she might pull herself out of a swimming pool. You look down at the water you splash as you walk along the rocks to follow. Some of them are really pretty sharp, but you avoid them just fine. You and your friend do this a lot.

A crawfish the size of your pinky wriggles under your foot. You squat down to catch it. 

"Aha!" you shout. "Our first witness!" You pick up the little creature and hold it up in the air so she can see it far above you. It waves its claws from side to side. 

"That is a crawfish."

"Counselor Claws does not appreciate your unnecessary analysis of his race and culture. Not off to a good start, Spinneret." She groans and turns away to continue walking without you. When you can no longer see her staring down at you, you decide to follow suit. You switch Counselor Claws to your left hand, and start climbing with your right. "Tell us, Counselor. What was the Marquise doing on the night of the incident?" you call. 

"What incident!" she shouts. "I haven't been accused of anything." 

"That's quite alright, Spinneret, I do believe that's acceptable court procedure. I think His Tyranny would agree." When you reach the landing, you crawl in the dirt on your elbows so you don't have to set the Counselor down. You think you owe him that much. When you get up, you scoot away from the dropoff because you are a sensible fourteen-year-old. Your friend is sitting at the rickety old picnic bench. You join her, admiring the carvings the two of you had made together in your trips prior. "Neophyte rulez," "Set Mindfang Free," and "WANTED: gross pir8 by name SPINNERET-- never showers!" For a while you left a pen here to write or carve into the table top or benches, but it was blown away in a storm. Now you always forget to bring a spare. 

"Let's get down to business. Counselor?" You set the crawfish down on the table and it creeps along slowly. "Take it away."

"It's a crawfish, Terezi, are you serious?" the other girl says, elbows on the table and eyes flashing. 

"Of course I'm serious. What happened to having a little fun?"

"This isn't fun. This is stupid."

"You just don't like it because I'm the good character!" you say, leaning over the table. "If you wanted to be likeable, you shouldn't do bad things!"

"I don't want to play anymore." 

"Neither do I, because you always ruin it for me." Your heart pounds from arguing with your friend. Standing up to anyone is kind of nerve-wracking. She still has that quirk to her jaw and that tilt to her head that shows you she's not done playing with you. This is your friend, but this is also Spinneret. You don't know which one you're mad at. You don't know which one you're afraid of. 

Without warning, she grabs the crawfish from the table, and flings it over the dropoff. All you can do is watch its arc through the air and the tiny splash it makes when it lands on the rocks in the shallow water. For how small you feel, she could be a hundred feet tall.

"There," she says, staring back at you with blank blue eyes. "Without a witness, you can't convict me." 

You are breathless. "You just committed an entirely new crime."

"You'll never stop me, Neophyte," she says. She's standing, leaning close to you over the table. Her nose is inches from yours, and you can see the flecks of green in her gaze. "Not until the day I die." 

"I'm done playing." You look away from her. 

"Oh, come on!" she protests. "What did I do?"

"You know what you did." 

"Whatever," she says. "If we're done playing, I'm done here."

You should be mad, but you aren't. You're just disappointed. You knew she would ruin this like she ruins everything. She was just out of control. You're sad, really. Not for the Counselor, or yourself, or even your best friend. Just sad.

She storms back to the precipice. You follow. 

"Don't follow me!" she says. "I'm going alone."

What has she ever done for you? Just insult you. She doesn't like you anyway. How many times has she hit you because she thought it would be funny? How many times has she made fun of Neophyte, despite her being just as important to you as Spinneret is to her? At least you don't fuse personalities with someone fake. You hate having to pretend with her. It's like lying about Santa to a three-year-old. At least you're smarter. At least you have other friends. At least you aren't crazy. At least you aren't fucked in the head like she is.

Wait, no. No, you don't think that. You really don't think of her like that. 

She slips and falls forward, feet swept from under her, and is suspended in the air. Your heart drops as you watch, as her curls lift up and time seems to stop. Pale, sun-burnt skin, long legs, shining hair. She is gone. The artistry fades with the crunch of her body on the rocks. The beauty vanishes with the guttural moan that escapes her throat. You peek over the edge. 

She fell face first onto the sharp rocks and her water bottle went flying. The tree roots caught strands of her light hair. Something twists in your stomach, but you don't know what it is. You cover your mouth and can't squeeze out a single sound. You ignore her groans of pain and ignore the blood pooling beneath her, splashed on the rocks, stained in her hair. Her arms flap slowly, as if she were trying to fly away.

You scramble up the path back to your neighborhood. You run screaming for help until your throat is raspy. You'll have to tell them the climbing, the sneaking, the crawfish. She slipped and fell. You're worried about if she will live, or if she will not. You worry about what to do next. But you're glad you didn't push her hard enough to leave bruises on her back.


	9. Step Nine: Tell it Slant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Please... don't lie to her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while! It's harder to write recently. I'll try to keep up from now on, but we're nearing the end!

Vriska's hands are light on your arms and a chill creeps up your toes like sleep. The sky outside is barely taupe in the smog-smudged morning, but the demon is tapping you gently, annoyingly, and so unlike its usual self, you decide something must be wrong. You sit up. It sits beside you, or you think it does, but its weight doesn't push down the couch cushions. It looks like it's mulling something over. Gaze averted, lashes low, head inclined. Its hair is loose in wild curls that drape down either side of its neck, its sigil shines, and its scars twitch, breathing independently of the creature as if they are their own. 

"I hate humans," it says, in a voice low so as not to wake the night, "and I don't like you, but I need to warn you that this summoning won't be fun."

"None of them were really a treat." You say. It puts its hand on your arm, slowly, and you swallow whatever words you were going to say next. 

"I'm being serious right now, little witch," it murmurs into the quiet room. Its words are heavy, like saying them takes tremendous effort. "Please listen to me."

You nod, fighting a shudder. 

"We are summoning a demon a couple tiers higher than me. She's a librarian--a knowledge-keeper. What she doesn't already know about the universe, she will find out." It runs a hand through its coarse hair. "You will learn some fucked-up things, and you will tell some fucked-up things."

"But what if I have nothing to say?"

"No one innocent has ever summoned a demon."

"What do I do?" you ask, leaning in with the pressure to stay quiet. "What will she ask?"

"We're about to find out. Listen to me, Pyrope." It grabs your hands with an urgency that makes your stomach twist in the worst way. "There's no room for accidents this time. We can't make any mistakes." 

You nod again. 

It gestures for you to stand with it, and you do. It leads you silently to your own bedroom, and with all the familiarity of guilt, you feel a heavy presence sink down into your bones from some faraway place. It dizzies you. Makes you nauseous. She's already here.

"Wear your favorite dress, or whatever's most expensive. She won't see you in pajamas." Its eyes are on you, but they always are, and in the suffocating silence you don't think to complain. You slip on something velvet, something black. A dress for funerals. You smooth your hair down. Vriska's eyes gleam in the dark like the Cheshire cat, its mouth twisted into a grimace rather than a grin. You don't ask. 

"Find a secret." A long pearl necklace you never purchased. 

"Find a lie." Photos of you with a scrawny blonde, kept under piles of old school papers in the bottom drawer of your desk.

"Find a truth." A blue yarn anklet that fell apart years ago. 

"Find a prize." An anagrammed water bottle.

It stares for a moment at the objects in your hands. Then it leads you back to the living room.

You set your objects down and you are fully awake. The presence that held you down now thrums in your veins, your eardrums, your hair. You feel it everywhere, though you wish you didn't. Vriska holds up something, waves it this way and that in the glow of the weakening moon. It's your pocket knife, washed clean of your blood. 

"Cross our hearts and hope to die." It pushes its hair aside, slides its free hand over its chest for a bare spot. Then it does as it promised, and carves a fist-sized "X" over its left breast. Putrid black dust puffs from the wound like chalk, and the blade drips with tar. It wipes the blade on its leg, then passes the knife to you. You pull down your neckline and curse your shaking hands. You follow suit, cringing when the blade burns with a white heat. Blood pricks at your skin. You wipe the blade on your leg, close the knife, and pass it back. 

Vriska takes a deep breath. "I, Vriska Serket, summon Aranea Serket, Knowledge-Keeper. I have information for you, sister." The air has the same buzz and crackle like a lightning storm, the same way the ground shook when summoning Vriska. It's a power you can't comprehend aside from the ringing already beginning in your ears. 

"Are you ready?" it asks, touching your wrist. 

"Ready."

"Please... don't lie to her." is all it says before the room explodes with noise. 

You cover your ears as the shrieking voices of the Mothers of Demons pierce your skull, layers and layers of generation after generation of heartache and grieving. From whisper to curdling shriek you hear every voice of every soul who ever was. You've lived through the birth and death of galaxies. You've died one hundred thousand times. You stumble back against the wall and you force your eyes open to see every shadow you've ever cowered from piece together a living nightmare to sit before you in YOUR house in YOUR world and you fight against the bile that rises in your throat. Every worry you've ever had, every lie you ever told stares back at you with eager eyes not ten feet away. The voices swim together, swarming in darkness into a high, reedy tone you can't understand. You grope for Vriska's cold hand and bite back the sobs of being watched by empty blue irises from the inside out. 

The two of you are breathless when a voice rips through the room. 

"Tell me what you know."

The voice is dry, sharp as a dagger. It hurts to hear, and sends your heart racing. Vriska inclines its head, but speaks clearly.

"You know me, sister, and this is Terezi Pyrope. She wishes to summon the Marquise."

"And you thought you'd make a pit stop on the way?" Vriska's fingers shake entwined with yours, and you squeeze.

"Think of it as stopping by to say hello." 

You glance up at the demon. She has all the simplicity and charm of any girl, sitting on the couch demurely with ankles crossed and a coy smile. Blue dress. Short hair. Glasses. But looking at her is like a car crash. She smiles at you, and you swallow down vomit. She gestures to the objects separating you. 

"Tell me a secret."

"I still feel like a human." Vriska says. 

"She stole those pearls for me." You say. 

"Tell me your lie."

"I already knew your biggest fear." Vriska says. 

"She didn't drown in the creek." You say. 

"Tell me a truth."

"I loved her." Vriska says. 

"She loved me." You say. 

"Tell me your prize." 

"I became a legend." Vriska says. 

"I remember her." You say. 

Then she's gone, and the quiet that follows howls for miles. It's just you, and your best friend, and years of crying yourselves to sleep between you.


	10. Step Ten: Apologize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is everything you remember of your dead best friend, and nothing like her at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be the last chapter, but things keep getting more and more complicated! I've never written a multi-chapter fic before :/ anyway, thanks for reading!

When Aranea fades back to wherever she came from, the sense of dread doesn't leave your stomach. You have a million things you want to say and twice as many apologies, but mostly you just want the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You can't stop thinking of that curly little blonde and the laughter and the crawfish and the roots like arms holding onto pale hair. The blood. You steal a glance at Vriska beside you, and its features don't betray it. It seems cold. Calm. Like the day you summoned it. You realize you're still clutching its hand, and it does, too, and looks at you, slowly, with an expression you can't put words to. 

"I'd forgotten that day at the creek," it says. Something in its voice crackles like static over the phone. Its eyes are a vast, foggy blue. "I knew I died but never stopped to wonder when. Or how. I just remember the dying and the falling and the new duds and freaky body. It felt like centuries, Pyrope, it really did. I knew exactly who you were when you summoned me but I couldn't remember why it hurt so much to look at you. I forgot."

"I haven't. Forgotten, I mean." Seconds pass by around the two of you. It feels like the darkness is another house guest. You clear your throat as quietly as you can. "How could I? How could I forget something like that?"

"Was it, like, on impulse?" it asks, leaning towards you the way she did over the picnic bench all those years ago. Its eyes, up close, have flecks of gold that shimmer just barely in the dim light of morning. "Did you really mean to do it?" Your heart skips straight into your stomach, and you squeeze your eyes shut. 

"I don't know."

It holds your hands in both of its and shakes them. 

"Yes, you do. You have to know."

"I don't," you insist, and it leans its curly head on your shoulder. "I don't." You say, and your voice cracks. You blink back tears.

"Please." It whispers into your neck. "Please."

"You don't know how much you hurt me." You choke back a sob. The air seems to press down on you, pushing, pushing, pushing, and you cry. You cry, and you cry its name and you pull it to you, stumbling back when it returns the affection with a fierce hug. Your memories are harsh but your hands are gentle, and you cry openly into its hair. It rubs your back, nearly crushing you in its arms, but you can't protest when you have someone to comfort you, even this way.

"You made me feel like nothing." You wail. You're shaking. "Worse than nothing. I hated you and I hated myself. I fucked up and I'm fucked up and I fucked us up. I killed a person. I killed my best friend. I killed you. Don't you get that? I killed you!" You stop for the attack of sobs that force their way out. Vriska just rubs your back, shhh, shhh, and you feel like the biggest idiot to have ever walked the Earth. You did nothing but damage, and you're the one crying? Pathetic. Your fault, your fault, your fault. 

"Hey, hey stop, I just wanted an answer. Hey, it's okay. Look. Look at me." It pulls away, holding your face. Its eyes shine and it smiles the saddest smile you've ever seen. "I like being a demon. I really really do. What, I get to be this smokin' hot AND live forever? Sounds fuckin' awesome, sign me up. Oh, stop, please don't cry again. Deep breath. See? There." It goes back to hugging you tightly. "There. It's okay."

You let it hug you, and it lets you hug back. The two of you just sway there in the middle of the living room at God-knows-when in the morning, and it feels... nice. It's wrong, and its arms around you prickle your skin with static shocks, but the embrace is everything you remember of your dead best friend and nothing like her at all. 

"I loved you," it says into your hair. "I really did."

"I know. I loved you too." 

"I'm sorry things happened this way."

"I'm sorry, too." 

It sighs, this deep rattling sound like gears catching, and squeezes you. 

"I wasn't a good friend to you."

"Neither was I." 

You can't explain what's going on with you right now. You want to cry, you want to die, you want to laugh. You don't know if you can miss that girl you killed so long ago when she's right here in your arms, but you do. You don't think you can love someone who isn't even human, who continues to make your life miserable, but you think you do. You aren't happy, but you aren't sad. Or maybe you're both. 

Vriska leads you with heavy feet to the couch, and it leans against the armrest. You follow into its open arms, leaning against it, head in the crook of its neck, its arm around your shoulders, yours around its waist. You fit perfectly. Vriska strokes your arm with its fingertips, slowly. You think your heart is ripping into shreds and gluing itself back together just to tear in strips again. 

"What do we do now?" you ask, quiet so as not to break the warm dark around you. 

"Depends. Still want to go after Mindfang, little witch?"

"I only summoned her to see you."

"What, like my corpse?" it laughs, and you flinch. "Sorry."

"I mean your soul."

"You believe in that junk?"

"Oh, so it's junk, Captain 'I'm a high-ranking demon.'" It laughs, full on cackles, and the rumble of its chest somehow reassures you. It squeezes your shoulder. 

"Hey, I'm new at this. Only been dead a few years." You look up at it, curious. 

"How do you get to be a high-ranking demon in that amount of time?"

It hisses. "Ass-kissing."

"Pffft."

"It's funny because you think I'm joking." It waggles a forked blue tongue at you and you swat its side, squealing. "Ha! Couldn't last in the demon world one day!"

"Whatever."

"Aw, is baby Pyrope annoyed? I'll touch you with my feet again," It threatens. 

"Ugh. Why couldn't you have just made a deal with me and left?"

"You broke the circle, remember?"

"Well, yeah, but did you have to escape?"

"I didn't HAVE to, but why turn down an opportunity to annoy my favorite rival?" It grins at you with shark-like teeth, and you elbow it in the ribs. 

"Ass-kissing aside, I still want to summon the Marquise. I don't know why, I just do. So I can have some closure, I guess? So you can go home to the demon world. If you want."

"It would be nice to go back." It smooths your hair, rests its forehead against yours. "But we can summon later. Right now, you need sleep. You did too much."

You oblige, cuddling into its side and relaxing. The room smells of campfire smoke and books somehow, remnants of the summoning, but it's weirdly comforting. The voices of the Mothers of Demons echo around your head. All the screaming, wailing, crying of ancestors you never knew and never will. The visions that flashed past your eyes on the sunny sidewalk. The murders. Who the Marquise Mindfang really was. 

"Vriska?" you ask. 

"Yeah?"

"Do you really look up to the Marquise?"

"Of course." it says, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. Your body goes cold. "I modeled Spinneret after her. Didn't you know that?"

"You did what? No you didn't, we just made, like, roleplaying names." You hear the words leave your mouth but you don't believe them. Not entirely. Not with the sinking feeling in your gut. 

"I knew about demons for a long time. I'm sure that's part of why I was so cruel to animals. And you." You swipe away a tear before it can see. "And it helped me move up the ranks fast. Everyone knew me. It was like seeing old friends, and she was my childhood idol. I wanted to be strong and ruthless and untouchable, like her. Still do."

"But.. Vriska, she's killed people. She killed a helpless woman, someone she said she loved. She killed someone who trusted her."

It kisses your forehead gently, as if you were a child arguing that the Earth is flat. 

"And?" it murmurs into the dark room. "So have you."


	11. Step Eleven: Let Her Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You want fair? Let me go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS NOT FINISHED! This is the first part of the last chapter of this fic. I abandoned this for a LONG time, I know, because I hit a big roadbump and had very little motivation to write. I don't know if I'll ever finish this fic but I haven't forgotten about it! Thank you all for being patient and leaving kind comments, they mean a lot to me.

"Group summoning is hard, but it's nowhere close to summoning the Marquise." Vriska says. The two of you are getting out old supplies. Cigarettes, candles, candies, your lighter, your pocketknife. And you decided together that the best, all-encompassing time to summon would be right at twilight, when the sky was blue, and the sun had just barely dipped below the horizon in a spray of orange and red on the clouds. You've been munching on chocolate on and off for an hour now, as directed by Vriska, as you're apparently still a weakling when it came to demon energies. And there would be a LOT of it tonight.

Vriska slips its arms around you and you return the favor. 

"We have a long night ahead of us." It says into your hair. It's still shaking a bit. Today, it asked for you to help it with its hilarious mass of curls, which you braided neatly down its back after what seemed like an eternity of yanking out matted up clumps. It wasn't necessarily a fan of the hairstyle, but it did seem soothed by the attention, and you'd do just about anything to get its bony shoulders to relax themselves and for it to stop tapping its fingers on every available surface. You run a hand down the braid and admire your handiwork. 

You hum, to let it know you're listening. 

"Are you nervous?"

You look up at it. You can't help but think of your old friend, wonder if she's there somewhere behind the blank blue eyes. You look back down. 

"Not really. What's the worst case scenario?"

"You could die and owe your soul to the Marquise."

"I've been through worse."

"Terezi."

"Vriska."

"This is a big deal," it says, exasperated, "and she's the highest ranking demon you'll ever meet. Do you not remember what happened literally this morning? The screaming? The Mothers of Demons?"

Their voices still echo around your head like a childhood song. 

"I remember."

Vriska groans and lets go of you. "Why aren't you taking this seriously?"

"Because I already got what I wanted!" You say. "I found you again, and I got to say my part about the day at the creek and we cuddled on a couch, and now we're good. We're even."

"I'm trapped here with you for the rest of your life," it says, squinting at you, "Are you sure you want that?"

You consider it. "I don't think I mind."

"I still feel time like you do! To be tied to one person for a hundred years is absolutely crazy!"

"So you don't want to stay with me?"

"That's not fair."

"You were never fair!" you say, jabbing its chest. "You were never fair in your whole life. Not to me, not to anyone!"

"We have a deal to complete, little witch," it says, inexplicably taller than before. Its... no, no, it's not scary. It isn't scary. This is your friend, your childhood friend, she would never hurt you. Its blue eyes glow in the darkness with a dangerous light. "You don't get to take the easy way out this time."

"What do you mean, 'this time'?" you ask angrily, but the set of its jaw shuts you up. You know exactly what it means. 

"You want fair? Let me go." It reaches for your hand, but you pull it away. Looking at its face, you immediately wish you hadn't. It sighs. 

"Light the candles."

~

The candles were lit, held in some cheap candle-holders for a pretty impressive display if you do say so yourself. There's way more light than what you think is necessary, and it looks like a bit of a fire hazard, but you've swatted down a few small fires before and your cell is in your bra. Just in case. You have the cigarettes for Meulin, snacks for yourself when the Sisters come, and your pocketknife for swearing on truth with Aranea.

Now, with the supplies laid out and the intent to summon, you are getting a little nervous. That feeling in your bones before a summoning is intense. Before it was just a sense that something was off, but now that it's amplified four times over, you're really starting to panic. You have to sit down and take deep breaths between summoning requests. You're a cornered rabbit and the wolves are closing in. It takes all your strength not to dart out the front door and never come back. 

"You got this, Pyrope," Vriska says as it crosses its heart right beside the "X" it made this morning. It passes the blackish-blue knife to you. "You're a stone cold bitch."

You grin and carve your own cross across your chest. "And you're heartless hellspawn. We make a great team." Vriska laughs the same throaty laugh as the night you summoned it--head thrown back, eyes scrunched tight, fangs glinting. 

Beneath the joking, you know the both of you are starting to really get nervous. 

"Since you're summoning the Marquise, you summon everyone." It half-hugs you, probably for its own reassurance. 

"I, Terezi Pyrope, summon Meulin Leijon, Daylight Demon, Kanaya and Porrim Maryam, Mothers of Demons, and Aranea Serket, Knowledge-Keeper."

All at once the room is heavy as a corpse over you, as the room fills with a stench like rotten eggs. Shadows from every corner slip to the couch in an inky mass, forming into four tall columns. As they settle, black smoke puffs slowly from their forms, chugging and churning and gulping like reality can't keep up with what you ask of it. Meulin forms, with her puffy hair and kind smile. She waves to you and slips a cigarette from the table. Then the Sisters Maryam form, which you haven't seen before, but they're no less inviting than Meulin, with cool, calm eyes and folded white hands. Aranea shivers into existence beside them, with eyes just as nightmarish as before. You choke out a greeting and vow silently to yourself not to look the higher-ranking Serket in the eye. 

"So we're finally gonna do it, huh?" Meulin drawls between drags on her cigarette. She apparently stole your lighter as well. "Good for you, 'Rezi."

"We thought it was time," Vriska says. "We need to finish our deal."

You offer a concerned glance to the Maryams. "Are you sure you're okay meeting the Marquise?"

"We are ready to face the traitor who threatened our race." the Sisters say together. It's not that they say it at once, or that they finish each others sentences, but that they weave the voices of the fallen in with their own like a tapestry, and the woven words rattle in your head just so that you can't tell where one voice begins or ends. "We know her better than anyone else. We are ready to help." 

"Thank you," you say, and you mean it. You've heard their voices and their genuine distress at just the mention of the Marquise. "Really." The Sisters nod with guarded eyes and slight smiles and you look to the blank air beside Aranea's head. "And you?"

"And me."

You look up to Vriska, who looks down at you with unusual seriousness. 

"Well," it says, reaching for your hand. "Here we go."


End file.
